


Poetry in Power

by Sacramental_Wine



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacramental_Wine/pseuds/Sacramental_Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like this, it was hard to imagine the dwarf as having just been restored to his throne, in the firelight of the forge he was something else, made purely of stone and heat and the passion of craft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetry in Power

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekerluna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekerluna/gifts).



> This was a birthday gift for the awesome seekerluna who is awesome!

There was poetry in all that power, Bilbo thought, standing just behind a column near that great forge, watching Thorin’s arm rise high into the air only to come down and bring thunder and lightening to earth with each strike. Honestly, he really had come to fetch Thorin for dinner, the entire Company was waiting, but he found himself struck mute by the sight. Like this, it was hard to imagine the dwarf as having just been restored to his throne, in the firelight of the forge he was something else, made purely of stone and heat and the passion of craft.

No, like this, Thorin was a blacksmith, pure and simple, exposed muscles shifting under skin that Bilbo’s fingertips know to be deceptively soft, iron bars wrapped in satin. His hands itched to touch, to slide along that jagged scar on his side and feel the way sweat slicked new skin as hard work made its pains known in joints and bones and muscles, soreness that came with reward. And Bilbo blushed brightly at the thought, despite the fact that Thorin was indeed his lover, there was something far too intimate about this moment, his dwarf in the act of creation, and the idea just floods his mind until he’s entering the workshop slowly, noting the play of shadows along Thorin’s shoulders, the curl of sweaty, tied back hair.

His touch made the dwarf jump a little, but soon Thorin turned to look at him, concentration fading to a smile as he pressed a kiss to his forehead, turning back to the forge to finish a little bit more while Bilbo wrapped his arms about his waist.

“What are you making?”

“You will see when it is finished,” Thorin answered, dipping the red hot metal into a bucket beside him before turning his head to look at his hobbit. “What brings you here? It’s rare that you venture down to the forge, my love.”

Bilbo didn’t think to answer before moving between Thorin and the firelight of the forge, looking up into ice-chip eyes and finding himself drowning for a moment in all the heat and raw power before him. Instead, he buried his hands in thick, inky hair and pulled his lover down for a kiss, all heat and tongues clashing while he pulled the leather thong loose from Thorin’s hair, feeling it drape about them like a curtain.

For all that he was a respectable hobbit, Bilbo wondered if anyone could really blame him for being so hopelessly attracted to the dwarven king. Especially when said king made it so completely unfair looking the way he did and kissing the way he did, pulling little half-whimpers from Bilbo’s lips. He felt himself being lifted from the ground and placed on a table, Thorin’s hands now free to slide up the back of his shirt, unclipping his bracers along the way and, really, Bilbo should protest, they were going to be late for dinner, but the lips on his neck were far more convincing than they should have been.

He sighed happily, fingers clenching in his dwarf’s hair while forge rough fingers scraped gently over his hips and waist. It was almost stiflingly hot between Thorin’s affection and the fire blazing to their right, burning Bilbo up from the inside, forging desire in his smaller body where once dwelled decorum. Thorin was always like this though, when Bilbo was the one to start things, eager and willing as if to prove to his hobbit that no one would measure up to what Thorin could provide, and Bilbo had tried to express in words how true that was, but Thorin seemed most interested in the actions of whimpering and arching and gasping for air while the humidity of sex drowned out oxygen.

The table creaked ominously beneath them as Thorin pressed his hobbit back on it, leaning over him, propped between legs that held him in a vice like grip, working the shirt of Bilbo’s shoulders even as said lover did his best to keep his hands thoroughly entrenched in his hair. Bilbo tipped his head back with a gasp as Thorin worked his way down exposed skin, leaving kisses and soft, gentle nips in his wake, that curtain of hair like drying lava keeping his face from Bilbo’s view. There were times when Bilbo thought his lover cute, handsome, but like this? Thorin was beautiful in a way that made his breath catch and his erection press tight to the front of his breeches.

Not that he’d need to worry about said pants for long, Thorin wrestling them away only to be trapped by deceptively strong legs once more, Bilbo lying naked beneath him while his own pants only grew tighter. The dwarf growled out something in his native, richly earthy tongue, making Bilbo shiver at the affectionate tone caught within it. It wasn’t very long at all before his lips were captured again, heat suffusing every inch of his body while Thorin rocked against him, one hand wrapped around both their arousals, stroking in time and Bilbo wondered, somewhere far from the pleasure, when Thorin had gotten his pants undone enough to do this.

But the rest of him was overly concerned with moaning into his lover’s mouth, tasting his moans in turn, clinging and rocking his hips, the motion of each other against one another like a hammer and an anvil, ratcheting the heat and pleasure up higher and higher, hair drenched in sweat and bodies slipping like natural pieces of a puzzle. And all Bilbo could do was moan and gasp at the intensity of it all, flames warring through his blood as his own hand joined Thorin’s, helping to stroke them faster and harder, his legs clenching tighter, mind wandering to the idea of bringing oil with him next time he payed a visit to the forge.

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, Bilbo arching his back only to meet the immovable wall of Thorin’s chest, stifling heat and molten ebony obscuring his vision, a cry caught in his throat as he came and came, shaking all the way down to his bones as his moans were caught and devoured and met with moans in kind as Thorin joined him in release, panting and finally breaking the lifetime of kisses to bury his face in Bilbo’s neck.

They lay there like that for a long while, panting and caressing, sweat sticking to their bodies before Thorin cleared his throat.

“You never answered me.”

“Hmm?”

“About why you came to visit.”

Bilbo paused before gasping.

“We’re late for dinner!”

And all Thorin could do was laugh like thunder while Bilbo fussed to get them out of the forge and into the dining hall.

Rest assured, they were indeed late for dinner.

 

 


End file.
